


The centre cannot hold

by kaydeefalls



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-15
Updated: 2007-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/pseuds/kaydeefalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein the war keeps getting worse and Remus probably isn't the spy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The centre cannot hold

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kiltsandlollies in the Axial Tilt fic exchange. Thanks to Jadecaptain for the beta.

**i.** _turning and turning in the widening gyre_

They meet in alleyways, in obscure Muggle bookshops, in rank little pubs late at night; and it's unfair, Remus thinks, because Sirius is best appreciated in sunlight, the golden boy. In the dark, he's not Sirius anymore. He's a Black.

Sirius kisses him hastily as Remus slips him a scrap of all-too-valuable parchment, information worth far more than its weight in the gold the Order cannot afford to pay him. "Do you need money?" Sirius asks, voice rough.

Remus knows the question is not calculated to wound, knows Sirius is offering money because that's the only thing Sirius can think to give, but the words leave bruises in the air between them all the same.

He flinches away from the question, his hands trembling in the too-large pockets of his threadbare overcoat, and says _no_ even as he wonders if he can afford to eat this week.

*

**ii.** _ in the midst of the wine-dark sea_

They wake in the night to the sounds of claws scratching at their windowpane, the owl hooting impatiently to be received. James takes the note and doesn't even share it with her, just shoves it into the pockets of the hastily thrown-on robe with a "stay here, I'll take care of it."

"But I want--" Lily starts, but he's not listening, not really, his eyes already glowing with the promise of battle.

"Someone needs to stay with Harry," and he's already gone, the air rushing in with a soft _whoosh_ to fill the space he leaves behind as he Disapparates.

She wants to scream, to throw things, to completely lose control for just five minutes. She was not made to sit at home and tend the child and wait patiently for her husband to return. She refuses to play Penelope as the world crumbles around her, the war that never ends reducing the best and brightest of their age to empty husks as she sits at the window looking out to sea and weaves her own shroud. _This is not who I am,_ she whispers to her son in his cradle, _this is not who you need me to be._

She would gladly give her life for her child, but not like this, not like this.

*

**iii.** _ their stillness answering his cry_

Full moon last night, and none of his school friends knew where to find him -- Dumbledore's orders -- "the vampires must believe you are to be trusted, the hags, the other werewolves" -- and so Remus wakes alone and trembling in a broken-down hut on the moors of Scotland. The only blood he can smell is his own, thank _God_, and he stifles a moan as he begins the slow, painful process of pulling himself back together. They will be here soon, those other Dark Creatures he's trying so hard to recruit; he must not show weakness. He must be the werewolf, strong and implacable and one to be feared; he has to shed Remus as he sheds the outward signs of pain.

It's a poor performance, but he does his best. Sirius would be proud. Or maybe just very, very surprised.

_Sirius,_ he thinks, _Sirius._

*

**iv.** _ because I could not stop for Death_

James's face is ashen. "There's a prophecy," he tells her.

The first time she and James defied the Dark Lord, they'd gotten separated from other Order members on the docks in Blackpool. They didn't realize who the dark-robed figure had been until after they'd fought him off, pushed him back far enough for them to Disapparate without being tracked. Afterwards, back at home, Lily had practically ripped James's robes off, wanting and needing him more than she ever had before in her life.

The second time, they'd known who they were fighting. James had lain in a bed in St. Mungo's for over a week afterwards while Lily tried to treat his unnatural burns with every salve and potion she could concoct. She found the right treatment eventually.

The third time, Lily had been four months pregnant. James's hands shook as he stroked her hair and begged her to wake up.

"We need to go into hiding," James is saying now. "As soon as possible. We think there's a spy."

Lily just holds her infant son in her arms, trembling with the horrible new knowledge that there _will_ be a fourth time, but this time, she and James won't be the targets.

*

**v.** _ and how should I presume?_

The first time he kissed Sirius, Remus had been fifteen years old and as drunk on butterbeer as a fifteen-year-old could possibly be. Sirius had been stone cold sober. They hadn't spoken about it again for over a year.

The second time had been shortly after the Prank. It hadn't been a very good kiss, but then, it hadn't been a very good time for Remus and Sirius to be kissing, and they'd both known it.

The third time had been a couple of months before graduation, and after that, Remus had lost track of the kisses pretty quickly.

Tonight, back in London at last after weeks in Scotland, Remus practically throws himself into Sirius's flat and kisses him recklessly, brutally, pretending he doesn't know that every kiss just brings them closer to the last one.

Sirius doesn't ask where Remus has been for the past two and a half weeks because he knows Remus can't (won't) tell him. Remus doesn't say _it was Order business, Sirius, I promise, I haven't changed sides_ because he's under orders from Dumbledore and anyway, Sirius ought to know that already.

And late that night, while Sirius quietly and efficiently rifles through Remus's knapsack, Remus pretends to be asleep. He doesn't ask what Sirius is looking for because he already knows, and if their positions were reversed, he'd be looking for the same thing.

*

**vi.** _ oh! what a tangled web we weave_

Lily is pretty sure she used to have her own friends; she wonders when her life first began revolving around James's.

"I didn't find anything," Sirius says, pushing his too-long hair out of his eyes. He looks exhausted. "I don't think it's him."

"He vanished three days before Fenwick did; two weeks later, we finally find Fenwick's body, and he shows up back in London the next evening," James reminds him. "It's far too convenient."

"Coincidences happen," Sirius retorts stubbornly.

"You just don't want him to be the spy," Peter interjects.

Sirius turns on him, his eyes flashing in sudden fury. "And you do?"

"No," Peter says, staunchly standing his ground for once, "but it's the only thing that makes sense. We know You-Know-Who is recruiting Dark Creatures."

"And we know he's got a spy in the Order," James says. Sirius glares at him, and James sighs. "I don't want it to be him, either, and for all we know he's not, but we can't be too cautious right now. Look again."

"You might even find proof he's _not_ the spy," Lily adds gently, even though she knows he won't. She doesn't think Remus is the spy, either, but she can't prove it. No one can. Not even Remus himself.

"Yeah," Sirius finally concedes, defeated. He looks so young for a second, until Lily remembers -- _we all are._

Lily is twenty-one years old.

*

**vii.** _ things fall apart; the centre cannot hold_

Remus wonders when the things left unsaid began to mean more in his relationship with Sirius than the words actually spoken.

They leave the pub by the back door and start snogging in an alley, and for a minute or so Remus can pretend they're just normal blokes -- well, normal for a couple of poofters, anyway. But suddenly there's a shout and a crash and a burst of red light, and he doesn't even think, just shoves Sirius against the brick wall of the pub and takes the stunning spell squarely in the small of his back.

When he comes to, the assailant is gone and Sirius is bent over him, eyes wild and strange.

Remus coughs. "Who was it?" he asks, sitting up carefully. His lungs ache and his back is screaming bloody murder, but it's not too bad, considering.

"Didn't get a good look in," Sirius says roughly, but his hands are surprisingly gentle as he helps Remus get to his feet. "Death Eater, judging by the cowl. Must've seen us going into the pub. We need to get out of here."

_Thank you_, Sirius doesn't say, and neither does Remus. He nods and lets Sirius lead him back to the flat, arm carefully braced across Remus's shoulders just in case Remus should need the extra support.

Two days later, Peter tells him that James and Lily are going into hiding. "The Dark Lord is after them, and the kid," Peter says. "Some kind of prophecy."

"No one told me," Remus says, distracted. The Order doesn't have proper meetings anymore; it's too risky for everyone to meet in the same place. He hasn't seen James or Lily in over a month.

"Yeah," Peter says, then hesitates. He glances around nervously, as though someone else in this crappy little bookshop might be watching them. Then again, someone might. "They think you're the spy, you know. Them and Sirius."

_I would trust you with my life,_ Sirius didn't tell Remus, _but not with my godson's._

"I know," Remus says.

*

**viii.** _ and how the silence surged softly backward_

There's a village called Godric's Hollow. James used to have family there. There's a house. No one knows about it. It'll have to do.

James is out getting drunk with Sirius one last time; Lily is trying to pack. Not that they're taking much; it's hard to disappear with loads of luggage. She folds up one of Harry's blankets and presses it, with the others, into a shallow blue bag.

There's a knock on the front door. Lily keeps her wand in her hand as she goes to answer.

Remus is there, looking more worn than ever, his shabby overcoat clearly too thin to ward off the chill of an October night. "Hey," he says.

"Remus," she says, and lowers her wand in relief. "Come in."

"Better not," he tells her, with a soft, wry smile. "You might've left train tickets out by accident. Maps. Something. The less I know, the better."

He's right. "I don't think you're the spy, Remus."

"Nor do I, but one never knows." He grins, and for a second, she can see how he managed to fall in with mischief-makers like Sirius and James. Then the spark is gone, and his shoulder sag with some unseen weight. "But the less I know, the less someone else can get out of me. That's Sirius's job, keeping secrets, not mine."

_No,_ she thinks. _You're far better with secrets. You've been keeping them all your life._

She's glad they didn't tell Remus about the switch. Sirius will probably be hunted, captured -- they're counting on it. It's the only way to find the real spy. But better Remus not know that Sirius may be destroyed for information he doesn't even possess. It'll be hard enough for him as it is.

"Anyway," Remus says. "I just wanted to...well."

"I know," she says. "Goodbye."

He looks as though he wants more, for a second, but she has nothing to give him. He nods and turns away, stuffing his hands into his pockets, a small, shabby figure fading away into the night.

She stands and watches until he's gone.

*

**ix.** _ mortal, guilty, but to me the entirely beautiful_

She's beautiful, there, in the doorway; the light from the house catches and glows in her hair, droplets of gold in the red. He catches the memory and stores it, soft and precious. He wonders if he'll ever see her again, or James, or Harry. He doesn't know.

He Apparates back to Sirius's flat. Sirius isn't there. He's probably out with James. Remus curls up in Sirius's bed and is asleep in an instant.

Hours later, he's awakened by the shifting mattress, a warm form pressing up against his back. He lies still, feels the soft brush of Sirius's lips against the back of his neck. "I know it's not you," Sirius whispers. He must think Remus is still asleep. "I'm so sorry."

_There's nothing to apologize for,_ Remus doesn't say. He just listens in the dark until Sirius's breathing slows and his arms fold firmly around Remus with the heaviness of sleep.

Remus knows the end of the world is fast approaching -- the apocalypse, the second coming, Voldemort's victory or his improbable defeat -- but when it happens, at least this moment will have been a part of him. He will carry it as he falls into the abyss and thrust it out into the void, one brilliant glimpse of what was and is and might have been, simple and shining and lost.


End file.
